At the other end of the chamber, Frater Mercury was seated in an immense glass-like throne. Around the room were large, golden cauldrons, each with levers and dials, and when he passed one Brynd peered in to see a clear liquid inside with steam rising. The floor tiles they walked upon were almost porcelain-like in their appearance, but they remained strangely soft underfoot, like a luxurious carpet. The white walls contained designed panels here and there; whether they had function or not, he didn’t know.
The man in silver armour, grey-haired yet still young-looking, marched down to Artemisia, and began to speak in hushed tones. His uniform was interesting, not dissimilar to some of the more ancient costumes from the Boreal Archipelago: a white tunic over which he wore stylized armour that had been moulded to look like a muscular chest and boots of dark brown leather.
Artemisia turned to Brynd. ‘My people wish to confirm our plans.’
‘Of course,’ Brynd said. ‘How shall we continue?’
‘Stand by any one of the cauldrons,’ she instructed.
Brynd turned to his comrades and shrugged. They peeled off in small groups to stand around the vessels.
They were tall objects, reaching to just under Brynd’s ribs, and they were at least several feet wide. On closer inspection, the fluid within was not transparent, it was mirroring what was above. Brynd saw his own pale features reflected, though his face was distorted slightly by slow ripples passing across the liquid. ‘What should we be looking for?’
Artemisia was looking at the elders, who were conferring and gesturing to their table. Were there maps on there?
Suddenly the liquid began to bubble slightly, then simmered, though Brynd could feel no heat from the container. He looked at the expressions on his comrades’ faces, and they were as cool as his own.
‘Look down into the cauldrons,’ Artemisia called.
The liquid began to change tone — its mirror-like qualities dissipated, and in their place appeared images of small black dots.
‘What are we looking at?’ Brynd enquired.
‘These are the. . Boats?’ she looked to Brynd for confirmation of the word and he nodded. ‘These are being sent out, as we converse, across the waters towards the coast of Folke.’
Brynd looked down again into the liquid. He could now see that while there was a cloud around the perimeter of the cauldron, the liquid was in fact the surface of the sea, and there were hundreds of small dots. ‘Just like Villiren,’ he breathed. ‘Where did the boats come from, another Realm Gate?’
‘Not this time. These were contained within a limb of their vessel.’
‘So the enemy has launched their offensive already?’
‘They have indeed.’
Brynd’s heart skipped a beat, but he wanted to be sure. ‘How are you acquiring such. . such pictures? Moving ones, of that.’
‘We have our. . surveillance beings, not dissimilar to your garudas. They are equipped in a fashion that means what they see is transmitted to these cauldrons.’
‘What size is this force?’
‘There are approximately ten thousand ships heading to the shore in the first wave, and one of your hours behind them lies a second, larger wave. Our estimates suggest the first will arrive in two hours.’
‘Most of our forces will take another day to meet us. They’re currently protecting towns situated further from the coast, where the populations are dense.’
‘They will be of more use there, for we have tens of thousands of our own people ready to meet this. We will, however, require your guidance. The elders,’ Artemisia gestured respectfully towards them, ‘will need to know what this terrain of sand is like.’
‘It’s nothing you want to fight on ideally,’ Brynd replied. ‘Depending on where they make landfall, however, your best bet is to assault them hardest as they land on the beaches. The waters are shallow, which means that the boats won’t be able to penetrate deep enough. If the ships are of the same type as those that hit Villiren, they’ll probably run aground thirty or forty feet before the low-tide mark: this means wading through water.’
‘We will need to know the quality of your water. Is it saline?’
‘It is.’
‘We have oils that will be useful here. Liquid fire, commander.’
Brynd raised an eyebrow. ‘That will be more than useful, if it does what I think it might. After this, I suggest holding them up as best you can with airborne assaults, archers, catapults, anything to keep them from establishing a position on the beaches. It will be messy. We’ll have the advantage as there will be nothing for them to shelter behind at first. They will suffer a lot of casualties if you’ve the numbers to keep the attack up.’
‘Be assured we do.’
‘Good. I’m guessing your enemy knows this already since they’ve split their assault into two sections.’
‘At least two.’
‘So why do they not send their sky-city to deploy ground troops?’
‘It doesn’t move well across water.’
‘You could have mentioned this earlier!’ Brynd snapped.
‘The. . forces it uses require it to be above land, otherwise they have to adopt different fuel sources and it can very much inhibit their mobility. This works to our favour, for it may be that our attempt to land on board will be far simpler.’
‘And are we to attempt this boarding while the war rages?’ Brynd asked.
‘Yes.’
‘It feels wrong. We should be on our islands, protecting our people and our land and our children.’
‘This is not the time for seeking glories.’
‘This is not,’ Brynd growled, ‘about glory. This is about doing our jobs. We will stand alongside our people.’
‘You will have time for such matters, if you wish,’ Artemisia replied coolly, ‘but we should concentrate our primary efforts on where their communications are most focused.’
‘The sky-city,’ Brynd said. ‘I’m guessing that their military will mostly be concentrated on the invasion, leaving the sky-city less defended?’
‘Indeed that is so, much like our own. We strike when the battle is at its most intense, but it will not be simple,’ Artemisia replied firmly, and with outstretched arms she gestured to the cauldrons once again, which bubbled furiously.
A new scene then presented itself: there were clouds or white smoke at first, a hazy bird’s-eye view of landscape, rolling hills, snow-covered tundra perhaps, it wasn’t easy to discern. Then, dark patches of land.
‘What are we looking at now?’ Brynd enquired.
‘This is our army,’ Artemisia said, with pride. ‘One and a half million individuals, made up of several different races, all of whom are trained. . soldiers, I believe your word is, though we would call them mercenaries and conscripts, too. It is all we could muster at such short notice. More are coming, but we are currently engaged in the business of evacuating our largest city. It is not, as you may appreciate, a simple and clean effort.’
‘Indeed. .’ Brynd peered once again into the liquid, only to see a clearer context now: there was the coastline, along which Artemisia’s forces were gathered.
‘We are adjusting our tactics according to your advice,’ she announced.
How the hell are they doing that so quickly?
‘I can sense you are wondering how this may be so,’ she continued. If she was capable of pride, she was certainly capable of smugness at how her culture was more advanced than Brynd’s.
‘Not really,’ Brynd grunted. There was a chuckle from one of his soldiers. ‘But since you mention it, what facilities are you using?’
Artemisia described a complex system that seemed to cross shamanism with high technological genius. The elders were connected telepathically to the generals on the ground, where they in turn had cauldrons and methods of viewing the entire operation. There was a vast system of communication that her army depended upon, and Brynd remembered how the Okun, too, relied on an elegant form of contact with each other. It maintained their uniformity, their progress. Their devastating force.